“We’ll let them make the next move,” said Wes. “Striking at night and leaving some of them afoot is nothing more than harassment. Except for the sentries El Lobo eliminated, and the men trampled by horses, we didn’t hurt them last night. We’ll keep a close watch on them so we’ll know what to expect. I believe they’re waiting for the arrival of the rest of their bunch from Durango.”
“Then they look for us,” El Lobo said.
“Yes,” said Wes. “This is building toward some kind of finish. When they turn all their guns on us, we must counter their move in a way that will hurt them most.”
“I think you are considering such a move,” Tamara said.
“I am,” said Wes, “but you’ll have to thank El Lobo for giving me the idea.”
“I only say we should stampede the horses through the town,” El Lobo said.
“That wouldn’t quite do it,” said Wes, “but suppose we take it a little farther and lure all Sandlin’s outlaws into Mexico City? We know the Mexican people hate the dragon, for we saw their anger as they stood over the graves of Pablo and Shekeela.”
“Madre de Dios,” Tamara cried. “We force the evil ones to fight in the very streets of the capital city. No more can the policia turn their heads.”
“Per’ap they kill us,” said El Lobo, “and the policia no give a damn.”
“You’re likely right,” Wes said. “The Mexican authorities wouldn’t ordinarily care if we live or die, but the turning point may have come when Sandlin’s outlaws murdered Pablo and Shekeela. We’re no longer a bunch of damn fools with a mad on. We are leading the fight for freedom from the hated Sandlin gang, and this is showin’ all the earmarks of a revolution. I have read of them, and the cause must become greater than those who are willing to die for it. Less than fifty years ago, a hundred and eighty men held out against an army of more than five thousand for thirteen days. They died game, leaving behind a legacy that became a rallying cry for all the Republic of Texas.”
“Sí,” Tamara cried. “Remember the Alamo was the beginning of the end for Santa Anna and his cursed dictatorship.”
“This will become our Alamo, if we can capture the confidence and imagination of the Mexican people,” said Wes.
“Sí,” El Lobo said, “and if we cannot?”
“We’ll be as dead as those bueno hombres at the Alamo,” said Wes, “with one big difference. Nobody will give a damn.”
“It’s the only way,” Renita said. “There are hundreds of Sandlin’s outlaws gathering here, and perhaps hundreds more we don’t know about. There are too few of us and too many of them. It’s the way to destroy them without killing them.”
“Sí,” said Tamara. “Let us discredit and disgrace them. Then the Mexican people will rebel and drive them out of Mexico.”
“That’s our plan, then,” Wes said, “with one exception. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I aim to see Cord Sandlin dead.”
North of Mexico City. August 14, 1884
Over the next two days, the rest of the Sandlin gang that had congregated in Durango rode in. In the afternoon, before supper, Sandlin prepared to speak to them.
“Don’t forget the soldiers,” said Jarvis. “You’d better tell the men to stay out of Mexico City and Toluca.”
“I can’t very well tell them that without giving a reason,” Sandlin replied, “and I don’t want them knowing the soldiers are coming. Six hundred of us against a pair of gunmen is all the odds any man could ask for. But bring in the Mexican militia and those odds just go to hell.”
“I agree,” Jarvis said, “but suppose these hombres we’re chasing hole up in town? I wouldn’t want to tell our bunch they can’t go in after ’em.”
“Nor would I,” said Sandlin, “but that’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
Amid cheers from the gathered outlaws, Sandlin outlined his plan. They would ride at dawn and, flushing their quarry, shoot to kill.
“We couldn’t get an accurate count,” Wes said when he and El Lobo had returned from scouting the outlaw camp, “but there must be between five and six hundred. Maybe more. They’ll be riding soon. Likely at dawn.”
“Then we lead them into town,” said Renita. “But where do we go from there?”
“Where we’re likely to get the most attention,” Wes said. “To the statehouse. To the presidential palace. We’ll hole up there.”
“I have seen it only once,” said Tamara, “and there are many guards. Soldados.”
“Bueno,” Wes replied. “Let Sandlin’s boys pour some lead into Mexican soldiers. That ought to rile up the rest, along with the Mexican people.”
“Peligro,” said El Lobo, his eyes on Tamara.
“Danger is a mild word for it,” Wes said. “It’ll be hell with the lid off. It’ll be a gunfight to end all gunfights. I don’t know how to say this without it comin’ out all wrong, but this is man’s work. Tamara, I can’t allow you and Renita to buy into this.”
“Perhaps,” said Tamara coldly, “for the sake of safety we should ride back to Mazatlán and become whores again.”
“Por Dios,” El Lobo said, “you not mean that.”
“I do mean it,” said Tamara, her eyes boring into his. “There are just certain things a woman can do, and being a whore is simple enough. Is it more desirable to become old before one’s time, rotting away with a vile disease, than to die for a worthy cause, with a gun in the hand?”
“Cuernos de el Diablo,” El Lobo groaned, at a loss for words.
“I reckon that’s how you feel, too,” said Wes, his eyes on Renita.
“Yes,” Renita said. “I lay naked in a whorehouse for three months, used by crude, dirty men. Can death be any more terrible than that? I don’t think so. ”
Wes sighed, and when he looked at El Lobo, Palo shrugged his shoulders. They had no defense against these abused, bitter, determined women.
“It’s settled, then,” said Wes. “We’ll ride in with Winchesters and Colts fully loaded. Let’s find a telegraph line and I’ll send one more message. That should open the ball.”
Wes climbed a pole, patched into the line, and sent a brief, startling message.
El Diablos Pistolas challenge the guns of the dragon in the streets of Mexico City at dawn.
Wes grinned as he thought of his late father, Nathan Stone. He believed it was the very thing Nathan would have done, for it was a diabolical act. If the outlaws accepted his challenge and rode in, their very presence branded them for what they were. On the other hand, if they didn’t show, their absence would drive yet another nail in the coffin of public opinion.
“Bueno,” said El Lobo. “When the wire talks, will they come?”
“Yes,” Wes replied. “We know Sandlin has bought off at least two men within the Mexican government. They’re safe enough as long as the robbing and killing takes place somewhere else, but what will they do when all hell busts loose in the streets of their own capital city?”
El Lobo laughed. “Run like coyotes, save own carcass.”
“That,” said Wes, “or begin shouting for soldiers.”
“Sí,” Tamara agreed, “and that would be perfect. Once the soldiers are called against the Sandlin gang, the Mexican government can no longer pretend the outlaws do not exist.”
“When the wire talk to the Mejicanos,” said El Lobo, “Per’ap they send soldados after us.”
“That’s possible,” Wes said. “We’ll have to avoid them until the Sandlin gang gets up the nerve to ride in.”
The telegram stirred up an immediate ruckus in the statehouse.
“Por Dios,” Hidalgo groaned, “this must not happen.”
“Send a courier to Sandlin at Toluca immediately,” said Ximinez. “Tell him he and his men must ignore this foolish taunt. Their coming here would justify the use of soldiers and bring them upon us all the sooner.”
The courier reported back to Hidalgo, and Hidalgo again conferred with Ximinez.
“Sandlin rode out three days ago
,” Hidalgo said, “and the servants do not know when he will return.”
“Jarvis?”
“Jarvis rode with him,” said Hidalgo.
“Many men ride in from Durango,” Ximinez said. “Perhaps Sandlin is with them.”
“But we do not know where they are,” said Hidalgo, “and darkness is almost upon us. What are we to do?”
“We can only pray that Sandlin and his men do not see that telegraph message. What can these El Diablos Pistolas do if Sandlin and his men do not accept their challenge?”
“Perhaps create enough disturbance to bring the soldiers down on us a week early,” Hidalgo said.
Wes and El Lobo had ridden back to a point where they could observe the outlaw camp, and had watched it until darkness had fallen.
“One thing bothers me,” Wes said when he and El Lobo again joined Tamara and Renita. “From within an hour after I sent that message until dark, we watched their camp, and there were no riders to or from town. If Sandlin’s there in the camp, there may not have been any way of his getting my message.”
“They no be in town,” said El Lobo.
“Not unless we get their attention some other way,” Wes said.
“I’m half afraid to ask what you have in mind,” said Renita.
“I am not,” Tamara said. “They will come, if I must ride naked on a horse and have them follow me.”
El Lobo groaned and Wes laughed. While Renita said nothing, she wasn’t in the least shocked.
“I reckon we can get their attention easy enough,” said Wes. “We can ride over there at first light and part their hair with some Winchester slugs.”
“You and El Lobo, I suppose,” Renita said.
“No,” said Wes. “There won’t be time for us to come looking for you and Tamara, so we’ll all be going. After we’ve parted their hair with some Winchester slugs, they’ll be on our trail like hell wouldn’t have it. We’ll likely be dodging lead before we reach town.”
“If we are going to fire to attract their attention,” Tamara said, “let us shoot to kill.”
“Sí,” said El Lobo. “That attract their attention.”
Wes said nothing. While he had some doubts about Renita, he certainly had none as far as Tamara was concerned. She had a hard edge to her, and it seemed to become more cutting the longer they pursued the outlaws.
Sandlin’s outfit was down to the morning’s final cups of coffee, and some of the men had already begun saddling their horses. Suddenly there was the thunder of Winchesters, and four men fell. Others scrambled for their rifles, only to have the firing cease.
“Mount up!” Sandlin shouted.
The command was unnecessary, for this was something every man understood. Having been fired upon, they must retaliate. Sandlin and Jarvis hastened to saddle their horses as the outlaws kicked their horses into a fast gallop.
“This could play hell,” said Jarvis. “We’ve lost control of them.”
“Not necessarily,” Sandlin said. “They’re after the killers we want.”
“Yeah,” said Jarvis, “but suppose those killers head for town.”
“Then we’re in trouble,” Sandlin said. “Let’s ride.”
“Well,” said Renita, her eyes on Wes, “are you satisfied that I can handle a rifle?”
“You’re considerably better with it than I expected,” Wes replied, “but this time we were shooting from cover. From here on, there may be no cover, and God only knows how many guns will be returning our fire. Now let’s ride.”
“Sí,” said El Lobo. “They come.”
“Let them,” Tamara said grimly. “We will kill them all.”
When it became obvious they were headed for town, Empty veered away. In all his earlier travels with Nathan, and finally with Wes, he had learned to make himself scarce when lead began to fly.
Beyond the spires of several cathedrals was the statehouse dome, and Wes headed for it, his companions following.
“In behind the building,” Wes shouted.
There was a courtyard surrounded by head-high brick walls, and they galloped their horses into it. While their pursuers were coming, riding hard, there was a more immediate danger. Zopilote, the Mexican gunfighter, appeared under the arch, in the entrance to the courtyard. With him was Kalpana, the Spaniard.
“Ah, señors,” Zopilote said, “we shall try your courage when you do not shoot from ambush. Kalpana, the Indio is yours.”
Wes and El Lobo had but a split second to respond, for even as the Mexican spoke, he and Kalpana had gone for their guns. Wes fired once, and Zopilote’s shot was wide, for he had been hard hit just above the belt buckle. Kalpana’s first shot went over El Lobo’s head, screaming off the courtyard wall. El Lobo fired, and the Spaniard stumbled, seeming surprised at the blood welling from the hole in his chest. He collapsed near Zopilote, their bodies blocking the courtyard entrance. Only seconds had elapsed, but the pursuing outlaws had already begun their assault on the courtyard.
“Here they come!” Wes shouted.
He opened the ball by emptying two saddles, and the rest of the outlaws began piling off their horses, Winchesters in their hands. The courtyard walls provided protection, but they were a hazard as well, for a ricochet could be as deadly as a direct hit. The outlaws quickly took advantage, mounting their horses and firing over the wall. Lead screeched off the walls, slamming into the courtyard’s stone floor.
“Against the walls,” Wes shouted.
It was their only defense as long as the attackers fired over the wall, pouring lead into an opposite wall. Even then, the fragmented lead came dangerously close. Only when some of the outlaws charged the courtyard entrance did the defenders fire. A dozen men died in quick succession, and the rest backed off, content to fire over the walls, seeking a ricochet.
“Back off,” Sandlin shouted. “Cease fire.”
But his commands went unheeded amid the roar of Winchesters and the shouts of the attackers. Security from within the statehouse—half a dozen Mexican soldiers—charged into the courtyard, shouting for attention. Two of them died almost immediately, and a third was hit before he reached the safety of the statehouse.
“Madre de Dios,” Hidalgo cried from his office on the second floor, “we are ruined.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Ximinez. “I know nothing of this.”
The battle raged for an hour, and while none of the defenders had been hit, they had accomplished little. Suddenly there were shouts from the outlaws, firing ceased, and there was the sound of thundering hooves.
“They’re riding away!” Tamara cried.
“I reckon they got a reason,” said Wes, “and here it comes.”
Mexican soldiers swarmed into the courtyard, armed with rifles with fixed bayonets. Having little choice, Wes and his companions raised their hands. Their Colts and Winchesters were taken and they were marched through the courtyard to the statehouse. Several soldiers led their horses away. Beneath the statehouse was a cavernlike area that served as a jail. Wes and his companions were taken down a flight of stone steps. One of the soldiers unlocked a pair of cells. Wes and El Lobo were forced into one, while Tamara and Renita were locked in the other. The soldiers had spoken not a word, and when they had closed the outer door, the cells were in darkness.
“Damn it,” Renita complained, “there’s no chamber pot, and no light to find it even if there was one.”
Tamara laughed. “It is dark, and there is the floor.”
“Por Dios,” said El Lobo, “we be dead.”
“Not immediately,” Wes said. “We accomplished what we set out to do. I just hope our confidence in the Mexican people is justified. If our scheme goes all to hell in a handbasket, we could find ourselves at the mercy of a Mexican court.”
“Sí,” Tamara agreed, “and for revolutionaries, there is but a single sentence.”
“I’m afraid to ask what it is,” said Renita.
“You wanted to be a part of this, so you might as well kno
w the worst,” Wes said. “In Texas they believe in rope justice, but Mexico has a tradition all its own. They prefer to back you up against a wall, facing a firing squad.”
“It’s still better than a Mexican whorehouse,” said Renita defiantly.
“Sí,” Tamara said, “and as long as I am alive, I do not give up.”
“No horse, no gun, mucho soldados,” said El Lobo.
“Tamara’s right,” Wes said. “We don’t know what they aim to charge us with, if anything. Some of the guards from the statehouse were hit, but that was the doing of the Sandlin gang.”
“Sí,” said El Lobo, “but the Sandlin gang escape. We do not.”
“I reckon we’ll know come morning,” Wes said.
Hidalgo and Ximinez, seeking to salvage something from the chaos following the gunfight in the courtyard, quickly went before Renaldo Gonzales, a Mexican magistrate.
“These hombres be killers,” Hidalgo argued. “It is they who murdered poor Pablo and the Señora, Shekeela.”
“There are witnesses to this terrible thing?” Gonzales asked.
“Sí,” said Hidalgo.
“Por Dios,” Gonzales said, “if there is such proof, they will die against the wall.”
Ximinez said nothing until the pair had left the office of the magistrate. “You lie,” he said to Hidalgo. “You know the old one who witnessed the killing of Pablo and Shekeela will not name these hombres the soldados capture. There is no such proof.”
“Sí,” Hidalgo agreed, “but I do not name the witness. In Mexico, where life is cheap, what is one’s word worth? I will buy a witness. More, if they are needed.”
“There is still the matter of the Senor Sandlin and his men,” said Ximinez. “Can you deny it was they who besieged the courtyard and murdered the soldado guards from the statehouse? El presidente is furious.”
“The Señor Sandlin and his men do not be in custody,” Hidalgo said. “These killers have been captured, and there are witnesses to their crimes. Madre mia, is that not enough to satisfy the state?”
The Border Empire Page 21
